


not yet (just maybe)

by clexastories, kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clexastories/pseuds/clexastories, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa inhales deeply, the smell of dirt, sweat, and anticipation quickening her pulse as she draws her sword. The sound of it scraping against the scabbard is lost in the cries and cheers of the crowd, of her people.</p>
<p>The last time she was in this ring, she became Commander. The last time, she won, and someone else died. <em>Jus drein jus daun</em>. It had been their way and would always be their way.</p>
<p>{ For Clexa Week 2016 - Day 1: Favorite Episode (3x04) }</p>
            </blockquote>





	not yet (just maybe)

Lexa inhales deeply, the smell of dirt, sweat, and anticipation quickening her pulse as she draws her sword. The sound of it scraping against the scabbard is lost in the cries and cheers of the crowd, of her people.

The last time she was in this ring, she became Commander. The last time, she won, and someone else died. _Jus drein jus daun._ It had been their way and would always be their way.

Someone was going to die today, and she had no intention of letting it be her. She had too much left to do, too much left to protect, too much left to live for.

(She closes her eyes and sees blue and gold. She grips her sword tighter. _So much to live for._ )

It begins without her because Roan always was quick on the offense. It doesn’t matter. She is quicker and draws first blood. Anya always used to scold her that she was too eager, that she should feel out her opponent first. Lexa has seen Roan fight for years though, and she can anticipate his moves. His sheer strength works against her, his one advantage. What she also knows, however, is that he is fighting for a mother who did not raise him like a child but forged him like a weapon, discarding him and reclaiming him when it suited her.

That is not something to fight for. That is not something to live for.

( _I won’t just sit there and watch you die.)_

_(_ In between heartbeats, she hears: _do not let her watch you die_ )

Suddenly the two swords are not held by her–they are a part of her, extensions of her grit and power and authority, hard as the casting she has built around her heart. Too well she knows what the color of a lover’s blood looks like after her heart has stopped beating, and Lexa will never let see Clarke see that ugly shade.

Anger forms a shackle around her chest, squeezing hot and tight. She sees white warpaint and memories of red blood, blood that used to flush Costia’s brown cheeks. She remembers how it stained the stone floor of her bedroom, the same room where she used to wake her lover with soft kisses against her back. She remembers, and her eyes burn with tears.

It is a mistake.

With her vision blurred by grief, she loses track of Roan. He disarms her, kicks her, puts her in a position that she resents (disadvantaged, in peril, right on the verge of _weak_ ).

The blade is at her throat, but she can’t hear the crowd, or Roan’s panting. She does not hear anything but her sound of blood–her birthright–rushing in her ears and the soft whisper of words spoken before another fight.

( _I’m not ready. Not yet._ )

( _Not yet._ )

( _Not yet not yet not yet._ )

Lexa is not ready to die, not yet, not without breathing Clarke in one more time.

Closing her eyes, she waits for swish of the spear descending and the space between her heartbeats to show everybody that she will not die today. And with a simple roll, she proves that this fight is not over, not yet.

It goes quickly after that because she has already been at her lowest (on the ground in this arena, on the ground of her room with Costia’s dried blood on her hands). She has nowhere else to go but towards victory, and with one throw of a spear, Lexa shows that she is just but also merciful.

_Jus drein jus daun._

She has taken the lifeblood of the one who took her life from her. She has given life to one whose blood (and more) makes him fit to rule.

Justice. Mercy. All drenched in blood, but none of it hers. That is her legacy, one that she will live to see delivered to her people.

(And when she looks over at Clarke– _oh_ , when she looks over at her–she sees in her eyes that _not yet_ has turned into _just maybe_ , and for the first time all day, Lexa feels truly and utterly weak).

 


End file.
